Chapters (95)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Video #1
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Video #2
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Video #3
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- The Final Video
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Cover
“Yeah, April. April 4. Or maybe it’s the twentieth. Shit. One of them is my mom’s birthday, and one is Scott’s.”
I try the first one and enter it. 0-4-0-4.
The knob turns easily. And we’re in.
Eighty
Basher closes the door behind us.
There’s one window on the back wall of the garage that lets in a little light. It’s even darker inside the garage than outside. The air smells like oil and grease and rubber. I sense more than I see the Mustang in front of us—a dark, sleek presence in the enclosed space.
Basher speaks in a hissing whisper. “Okay, do your thing, Gifford. You said the car came at you from the driver’s side, so that means any damage would be on the passenger side of the Mustang.”
The front of the car faces the large garage door, so we squeeze our bodies around the front bumper and reach the far side of the Mustang. We both crouch down next to the fender.
“I can’t see a thing,” Basher says.
“I’ll use my phone’s flashlight.”
“They’ll see us.”
“No. The window’s in the back. And this light isn’t that bright.”
The flashlight beam passes slowly over the fender. I know nothing about cars, nothing about body work. The fender looks clean and unblemished to me.
“Well?” I say.
“I’m not an expert,” Mike says. “But I don’t see any damage.”
“Could he have fixed the damage?”
“Of course. But the whole car’s been worked on. Just about every inch. It’s hard to tell when any one part was restored. Maybe a professional could.”
“Okay, let’s look at the side.”
“No, put that out first.” He nods at my phone. “They’ll see.”
“Just look here first,” I say, moving the light down the side of the Mustang. “Any part of the car could have hit us.”
We crouch along the side of the car with my light glowing the whole way. Some small dings and scratches, but nothing big. Nothing that would have come from a collision. But the police haven’t said that they know the other car hit us or just came close enough to force us into the tree.
I straighten up and click off the light. It feels darker now than ever.
“Okay,” Basher says. “That’s it. You did what you came to do. Now let’s get out of here. If I get arrested, Coach won’t let me start on Saturday. And there are going to be some college scouts there. I have to play.”
But I don’t move and wait for my eyes to readjust.
Basher puts his hand on my arm. “Come on.”
“What about the trunk?” I ask.
“You think Chloe’s in the trunk? It’s been almost two weeks. It would stink. Come on, Gifford. We need to go.”